


He Believed In The Green Light

by orphan_account



Category: You (Lifetime), You (Netflix Series), You (TV 2018)
Genre: Forty tries to set Joe up with a girl but it was Forty all alongggg, M/M, Masturbation, My first fic so pls go easy lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Discontinued)He promised at the very start that LA would be different and he would keep a low profile. But already he's got the blood of two men on his hands, one of them being a major celebrity, an ex-girlfriend who works at the same mindfulness-centred, cruelty-free, Angeleno wet dream store as him,andhe's on social media. What has this place done to him?Alternate option for where S2E7, "Ex-istential Crisis", could have gone.
Relationships: Joe Goldberg & Forty Quinn, Joe Goldberg/Forty Quinn
Comments: 60
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

Love was a disaster.

Joe knew he needed to keep his distance, knew he needed to take her in small doses - but Love was cloying, desperate to prove to him that it was her. That she was the one. It was inevitable that it would come apart and leave Joe alone in this shithole city.

He blames himself, partly. He promised at the very start that LA would be different and he would keep a low profile. But already he's got the blood of two men on his hands, one of them being a major celebrity, an ex-girlfriend who works at the same mindfulness-centred, cruelty-free, Angeleno wet dream store as him, _and_ he's on social media. What has this place done to him?

He glances up for what must be the hundredth time today at Love and this new boy-thing, who's been stuck to her like glue the entire day, tasting wedding cakes. A woman can do whatever she wants, of course - Joe is a staunch feminist - but god, did she have to move on that quick? And he's not even her type. Joe can sense his utter vapidity from here, no doubt from years of having a trust fund in lieu of a personality. Love is smart, and kind, and funny, and talented. How can she bear to be around this soulless asshole?

Love's feeding him cake with her hands now.

Joe wishes that it was him with her fingers in his mouth. Him, eating her delicious cooking. Him, tasting the food in her mouth when she couldn't wait till after she'd swallowed to kiss him. He just wishes it was still him.

Who is this monster?

"That," says a voice from beside him, "is Milo."

Oh god. Forty. Joe is not in the mood to speak to any of the Quinns right now, but especially not Forty. He huffs, taking his work elsewhere. "It's not really my business."

Milo... Milo what? Joe can't find his socials without-

"Milo fucking Warrington," Forty says, disgust dripping from his words. Thank you, Forty. Sometimes it pays for your boss-slash-ex-girlfriend's failed socialite brother to not be able to keep his mouth shut. "You know, he used to be James' best friend."

"Love's late husband James?"

"Exactly."

Tut-tut, Milo. Major faux pas to fuck your best friend's widow.

"He just spent two years traversing Asia so he could sprinkle James' ashes all over the Himalayas. And now he's back, traversing Love's vagina. Again."

Again?

Forty grimaces. "He does that periodically."

And all of Joe's assumptions are validated. No surprise. So he's a- "Scumbag," Forty spits. "I would Poltergeist the shit out of him if I was James."

Joe needs answers. Love wouldn't do this. Not the Love he knows. "Well, maybe it's a comfort thing," he suggests. "I mean, they've both been through something terrible." He looks up and Milo fucking Warrington is feeding her strawberries. What a douche. Forty turns to look at her too, almost pitifully.

"Yeah. Maybe for her, it is. But he's been sweet on her since college. He could not _stand_ it when she chose James. And then guess who was Mister Attentive at the funeral?"

Joe can't believe this guy. Milo is an incubus. A demon straight from hell.

Forty scoffs. "Yeah. He stayed for weeks after. Cooked, cleaned, bathed her, went down on her every night. Nobody does that shit out of the kindness of their own heart, Joe." Joe would, if Love asked. But whatever. "He was preying on her when she was vulnerable. And now, he's doing it again. Picking up the pieces when your body's barely cold."

Forty, for once, is right. Milo is a predator, and Love is falling for it.

"Don't worry, sport," says Forty, as he places a warm and reassuring hand on Joe's shoulder. "She's not falling for it. Love will give herself permission to do what she needs to do to heal, but she is still very broken up over you."

Love is play-fighting with Milo in the kitchen. "She doesn't look very broken up."

Forty squeezes his shoulder. "Challenge accepted. Watch this," He calls to Joe as he walks to the backrooms, wagging a finger at him.

As soon as Forty turns his back, Joe has his phone out and starts looking up this wolf in prick's clothing. So he's Australian, a zen Buddhist, a travel blogger (ugh)... And his dad owns Patagonia. Of course. His feed is chock full of philanthropy and baby animals... And Joe smells a fraud.

Forty is still in the back, in what looks like a heated conversation with Love. After a few short moments he walks briskly back to Joe, seeming... happy?

"As I suspected, she is not over you."

"Did she say that?"

"She did not need to. This is what Love does when she's hurting. She, like, gets a little basic, and pretends to like stuff she definitely does not like in order to seem normal. And also, it's the only time she'll snap at me. It's a tell." It makes sense to Joe. When he was broken up about Beck, he glommed onto Karen Minty. She was... good, but wrong for him.

Is that what Milo is? Is he Love's Karen Minty?

Nevermind. It doesn't matter. He should never have been with Love in the first place. He should just stop obsessing and, although it hurts, let a good thing go.

He picks up a box of pop-psychology drivel to stock in the "bookstore"... And Forty is still following him. Does this guy ever give up?

"Okay, so... You know what you have to do now, right?" He waves vaguely in Joe's direction, and Joe turns to give him a blank stare. What exactly does Forty think he has to do? Get high? Go on a bender? Hire an escort?

Forty continues, exasperated. "Get back on the horse. Start dating around. Show love how free and happy you're living." He smirks. "She will _hate_ that."

"I'm not really the vindictive type," Joe says. "And she's... not really the jealous type." Of course she isn't. Because she's perfect.

"Oh, I'm sorry - did the two of you share a womb?" Forty snarks. "Trust me, okay? She gets jealous. Now, let's set you up." He reaches towards Joe's back pocket and... What the fuck? Why did he take Joe's phone? Joe needs that back, right now. Placing down the box of books on a nearby counter, he tries a distraction so he can grab his property back.

"Forty. Why are you helping me? I lied to your sister. I lied to you. I tangled you up in this Amy-Candace mess." Before he can reach out for his phone, Forty drops the hand holding it to his side and places another compassionate hand on Joe's shoulder.

"Hey. As Shakespeare once said, 'bitcheth was crazy'. You lied out of necessity, okay? That guy," he says, pointing to Milo and Love making pastries, "is a pie hunting snake in Tarzan's body, and I do not trust him. My gut says - You're good, he's bad, case dismissed."

Joe starts to see what Love sees in Forty. He's smart. And he loves his sister, hard. He gets that. But he's currently using Joe's phone, which he took without asking, and is... walking out of the store with it. Shit. Joe turns to see Love one more time, still happy as ever. If Milo is Tarzan - wild, brutish and mannerless - then Love must be Jane - compassionate, warm and patient. And who knows? Maybe her plan is to tame this beast. Joe would be more than happy to save her the trouble and step in as his respectful self, but right now there are more pressing issues. Namely, Forty setting him up with some floozy without consulting him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! It's my first fic, and my writing skills are a bit rusty, but I'm excited to have a go. This chapter is basically just setup but things will get interesting sooooon


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn't take long for Joe to find Forty, a few minutes up the road from Anavrin, drinking his precious green juice outside of a florist. He's still scrolling through Joe's phone with a look of quiet concentration. God knows what kind of strange hookup apps he's downloaded, or the kind of profile a guy like Forty would write for someone. Joe takes a few brisk steps towards him when suddenly Forty lifts his head and sees him approaching.

"Old sport! You finally showed," he says, a grin spreading across his bearded face. "I was beginning to think you-"

"Give me back my phone now, Forty. I didn't say you could take it."

Forty recoils defensively, his face now painted with a worried expression. "Hey, calm down, dude. I wasn't going to go snooping or anything." His smile slowly returns as he says, "What, do you have nudes on here or something?"

As a matter of fact, Joe does. They were for Love. It's not the only reason he wants his phone back, but in all honesty, it's definitely one of them. "Look, I've got... Private stuff on there, and I would really like it if you didn't take my shit without asking. I can figure out Flingr or whatever on my own, so if you don't mind..." He reaches out pleadingly.

Forty softly swats his hand away and chuckles. "Are you kidding? You couldn't navigate a dating app if it came with a fucking GPS. I'm going to show you the ropes, take some _safe for work_ pictures, maybe help you write a bio, and then I'll leave you to it. I mean you no harm, Joe Goldberg."

Joe should grab his phone. He should rip it right out of Forty's ringed hands and leave. Forty is an entitled brat, and he's not doing this because he really cares about Joe - he's doing it because he's bored and needs a quick distraction, even if it means annoying the shit out of his friend. And yet, somehow, Joe can't muster the strength or the anger to actually say no to him.

"Fine. But I swear, if you start doing anything weird, I'm taking the goddamn phone and leaving."

Forty stretches out an open palm. "It's a deal." 

They shake hands in agreement, and Joe instantly feels the regret settling in.

* * *

About an hour later, they're sitting on a park bench with a bunch of daffodils Forty got at the florist, and he's braiding them together to make a... wreath, maybe? Joe still isn't sure.

"So, um, Forty... Why are you doing this again?"

Forty sighs heavily. "I told you, dude, these photos are for Magnolia. It's a watering hole for fruit flies. If you want attention from straight girls with a thing for gay guys, wear a flower crown. It's, like, basically a fetish. Plus, you've already got this gap teeth-softboy-Mac Demarco thing going on."

"I don't understand a word of what you just said, and to be honest, I'm afraid to ask."

Forty rolls his eyes. This guy is a neverending spout of passive-aggressive body language. "Look, my point is, you will be drowning in poon. Now..." He spins the yellow crown around on his finger before handing it to Joe. "Put this baby on and we'll get started with our photoshoot."

Joe holds the band with gentle fingers, admiring Forty's work. The guy is actually pretty good with his hands. He places it on his head and pushes aside the dark curls that fall onto his face. It feels soft against his scalp, the petals like feathers brushing against his skin. He follows down the sidewalk to where Forty is leading him, towards a tall bush with red flowers creeping out from behind a metal fence.

"Okay, so, what I need you to do is stand in front of that fence and face me, while I just figure out the angles and the lighting and stuff. D'you think you can do that?"

Joe does as he's told and stands in position while Forty fiddles with his phone's camera. God, this was a bad idea. It's not like he's going to like anyone on these apps, anyway - they're all hollow people, no real opinions or interests. The smartest people in life are those who keep their online presence to a minimum. Then again, Joe couldn't be one to judge - all it took was one private profile to put himself on the grid forever. God, he made some stupid decisions for Love.

"Uh, hello, Sean Penn?" The sound of Forty's voice pulls Joe out of his head. "Would it kill you to crack a smile? All the photos I've taken so far look like mugshots. Very pretty mugshots, but still." 

"Oh, right," Joe murmurs, and he curls the corners of his mouth up.

"Oh, come _on_ , Joe. You can do better than that. Go on, give me a grin." Begrudgingly, Joe widens the smile, showing his gap teeth. He forgot how much he hates smiling for photographs. This is utterly humiliating.

"Beautiful!" Forty exclaims from behind the camera. "Cute as a fucking button. You'll have a girl on your arm in no time."

Joe drops his facial expression and takes the crown off of his head. It is exhausting being Forty's friend. The amateur photographer bounds over to him, showing him the photo. He's got to admit, it's not a bad picture - a bit Shutterstock, maybe, but damn good for something shot on a phone. Forty bites the tip of his thumb.

"I mean... it's art. The composition, colors... not to mention the model." He nudges Joe with his elbow. "This is fantastic."

"Ok, well, thanks for your help. If you don't mind, I'll just be taking this-"

He reaches out for his precious phone again but Forty slaps his hand away. "Oh, no, old sport. Our work has just begun."

 _Fuuuuck_.

* * *

Buying flowers was one thing, but now Forty has dragged him along to some kind of male fashion boutique and is dressing him up like a doll in whatever outfit catches his fancy. Joe is astonished about how long this is taking - the store can't possibly be bigger than his apartment, and yet the stream of clothes is never-ending. Currently, he's wearing ridiculously overpriced jeans and a white turtleneck, while Forty is sitting on an ottoman near the changing stalls, his hands clasped together over his mouth, scrutinizing the outfit thoroughly.

"Ok... The red velvet jacket," Says Forty, and Joe puts the red velvet jacket on.

"No, wait - the brown velvet jacket." Joe puts the brown velvet jacket on.

"Hang on - go back to the red velvet for a second?" Joe, again, puts the red velvet jacket on.

"Nope. No way. It's gotta be the brown velvet-"

"Look, Forty," Joe interjects, "I mean no disrespect, but do we really have to go through all this? Either jacket would be fine."

"Joe, you don't understand. Goldleaf is competitive with a capital C. If you don't look like you belong in the Forbes celebrity 100, you are not getting anywhere near an invitation. All I need you to do is bear with me. I'll take some photos, and I've got a producer friend at Disney who will for sure hook you up with an account - but you've got to at least look the part."

"I don't know, I don't really want to brush with fame-"

"Dude!" Forty whines. "I'm begging you, man. You don't even have to meet any of them! Just make an account and see how you feel. Most of them are B-list or lower. Actually, most of them are pornstars." Joe stays stony-faced and unimpressed. Forty slumps over, and - wait, is he getting onto his knees? 

Forty looks up from his place on the floor at Joe, total solemnity in his eyes. "Joe. Please."

Jesus fuck. Okay.

"I just..." Joe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. This day has been a total trainwreck. "Just chose a jacket."

"Well..." Says Forty, wrestling with the choice in his head. Eventually, he comes to a conclusion. "The red is kind of tacky. Let's just go with brown."

They take their haul to the till and the cashier rings it up for... Holy shit, sixteen thousand dollars? Is this a joke? There's got to be a decimal out of place or something. Maybe a technical error? And yet, Forty hands over his credit card without a single complaint, the action as natural and subconscious as breathing. When they leave, Joe asks him about it.

"Why would you do that?"

"Do what?" Replies Forty.

"Buy all this. You really didn't have to."

"It's no big, really. What are friends for, if not lavish purchases on your behalf?

"Seriously, though. I can keep the tags on. I mean, I'm not wearing these anywhere anytime soon."

Forty stops dead in the middle of the pavement, and it takes Joe a couple of steps to realize he's walking alone. When he turns around, Forty's got that same solemn look that he had earlier. The sun is setting now, and the low light carves deep lines into his usually soft face. He walks towards Joe and lays two firm hands on either shoulder. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them up again there's something indescribable behind them.

"I bought these for you because you deserve nice things, okay? I think you can beat yourself up about stuff sometimes. Trust me, I get it." Forty's gaze is unwavering, although he's getting misty-eyed. "The easiest person to hate in the world is yourself. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing nice things..." He plants a strong finger in the middle of Joe's chest. "For you."

They stand in silence for a while, Forty's hand still on Joe's shoulder, his finger on still on his chest, until Joe can't bear it anymore. He steps back and away from Forty's touch, and starts talking to diffuse the strange tension in the air between them.

"Uh, thanks, man. You're right. I... I get in my head about things, and... Well, it's not easy to explain. But thanks. I appreciate it."

"Appreciate you," Forty replies in a caring voice, before taking a deep breath through his nose and clapping his hands together. "Well! We had better get going. We're losing light fast, and I wanna get this shoot done today, thank you very much."

"Well, I don't have the clothes on, so..."

Forty makes an 'ah' noise, shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. Ever so slowly, he turns his head towards... Oh, no. Come on. Joe is not getting changed into a sixteen thousand dollar outfit in an _alley_. No fucking way.

After getting changed as quickly as humanly possible in an alley, Joe takes a brisk walk with Forty towards an area where the horizon is clear from buildings and lampposts. Forty takes Joe's picture again, and this time, Joe actually likes it. There's no fake smiling, no quirky flower crown. It's shot from below, which makes him look taller, more imposing, and the low light accentuates his cheekbones. However, there's a softer side to the photo, too - the fuzzy cashmere turtleneck and the warm golden light of the sunset make the photo cozier, more approachable. Joe really, genuinely likes it.

"It's shit," says Forty.

"What? Why would you say that? It's great."

"It's just... I don't know, sport. I feel like we should have gone with the red velvet instead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I had fun writing this and I hope you liked reading it. Things are gonna get a little bit spicy next chapter (but nothing explicit lol). As always, constructive criticism is really appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Joe knows it was a bad idea to go to the liquor store with Forty. He knows it was a bad idea for them to be drinking straight from the bottle of crème de menthe that Forty bought (Which, by the way - crème de menthe? Really, Forty?) and he knows it was a bad idea to drink so much that he's starting to go short-sighted. But this has been a long day, for both of them, and Joe's still hurting about Love. He needed a drink. His head is buzzing slightly already, and... Is it just him or are his legs, like, longer than they were before? It sure seems like it, because every time he tries to take a step he trips a little bit, and Forty snorts from beside him.

"Hey, Wi... Er, Joe?" Forty slurs.

"Mmmm-hm?"

"What, um... What time is it?"

Joe looks down at his watch, and he can see it, it's right there, but none of the shapes make sense in his head. "It's... probably late, Forty. D'you want to get an Uber, or something?"

"Haven't got any money."

"Oh. Fuck. That's, uh... suck. That sucks." Joe blinks hard. All the words are getting mangled in his brain. It's like fucking alphabet soup.

"It's fine! It's fine. I'll... I'll call Love, and she will come, and she will be so fucking happy to see us." 

Wait, Love? See them? No, that's... That's a bad idea. Joe can't remember why right now, but it's not a good idea to call Love. So - oh, shit. Forty's got a phone out.

"Lo-o-ove? Love, are you there? It's your most favorite twin in the whole world calling."

A tinny female voice comes from the speaker. "Forty? What are you doing? Where are you?"

Oh, no no no. This is bad. This is not good. If Love hears that Joe was here she'll never forgive him for... Whatever it is he's doing wrong. She'll stay with that fuckhead Milo and they'll have demon babies together. Oh, god, Love, you shouldn't have Milo's demon babies. That's bad. That's a bad thing. If Joe can just grab the phone and - Oops.

It seems Joe underestimated his strength, because as soon as he lays a finger on Forty's hand, the phone flies halfway across the street and into the pavement. That's not something a case can protect against - not that Forty uses one, anyway. Forty whips around and almost falls over, but miraculously keeps his balance. He stares, slightly dazed, at Joe.

"The fuck?"

"Oh shit. Sorry, I..."

Forty takes a moment before laying a heavy hand on Joe's shoulder. "You know what, dude? It's okay. It's all good. I can, uhh... I can..." His eyes close and his brow furrows, as he scours his mind for an alternative place to sleep. "I can go to your place!" He says, clapping his hands to either side of Joe's face.

"Uhhhh..."

"What, dude? I'll crash on the couch. It's not like we'll be sleeping in the same bed or anything." He gets close enough to Joe that he can smell the mint off of him and coos, "Unless you want us to," Then doubles over laughing at his own joke.

Joe considers letting Forty sleep at his place. He can do one nice thing for his new workmate, right? After all, he did try to help him with those apps, even if Joe didn't really want him to. And in the end, he just wants him back with Love. When Joe really thinks about it, Forty might be the only one around here with a bit of sense. He may be an idiot, but still. Being an idiot is better than being completely braindead.

"Okay. But don't, like, throw up on my floor or anything. And if you do, you're cleaning it up."

* * *

Joe fumbles with his keys at the front door, dropping them a few times before finally getting them into the lock. He and Forty stumble through into the front room and Forty flops onto the sofa. Joe leans against the kitchen counter. The room is spinning just a little, and it's making him feel sick. The taste of mint is still strong on his teeth.

"Joe," Forty mumbles, "Do you have any moon juice?"

"No, I don't... I don't think so. Sorry."

"Ah. 'S fine."

They stay in silence for a while, too drunk to even maintain a conversation. Joe scours his brain for something to say, and then remembers.

"Hey, uh, can I get my phone back? It's, um... I want it."

Forty jumps to the furthest side of the couch from Joe. "No-o-o way, Will. Er, Joe. We've got... There's one more app, right? God, what's it called... It's, like, got some stupid thing... uhh... Oh, I got it! Flingr, dude!" Forty says, and takes the phone out of his back pocket.

"I don't really... We can do it tomorrow. I just want to sleep right now."

"Dude, it'll take, like, 5 seconds. Now where the hell..." Forty trails off, squinting at Joe's screen. He then lifts up the camera at Joe. "Ok, so, uh... You want to - You wanna be sexy for this, y'know? So... I don't know. Take your shirt off or something."

"Forty..."

"It's just a shirtless pic! I'm not asking you to strip completely. Jeez..."

Reluctantly, Joe takes his shirt off. This is weird, right? It's weird to have someone else take a picture of you with your shirt off. If someone sees the picture, they'll just be like, 'Who took this?'. Not very sexy.

"Forty, let's not. I've - We've got to go to work tomorrow. I don't want to be tired _and_ hungover."

"Old sport, don't stress it! I just... Um... Oh, shit. The phone ran out of battery. Fuck."

Forty drags a hand down his face. He limply holds up Joe's phone, and he walks over and takes it.

"Thank you."

"No problem, dude."

Joe sighs. All this to get Love back, and he isn't even finished yet. God, he wishes things were more simple. But they aren't, because things are never simple for Joe. He wonders if his life is ever going to change, ever going to calm down. He wishes he was like Forty - carefree, rich enough to do whatever he likes without repercussions, and he doesn't look half bad, either. Some people just get lucky, he supposes. When he finally snaps out of his quiet contemplation, Forty is still drunkenly gazing up at him.

"So... do you want a blanket or anything?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. That'd be nice."

Joe goes into his room to get a throw from his bedroom, and on top of the blanket his bed he finds a sweater that belonged to Love. Something squeezes tight in his chest as he lifts it up. It's soft, made of jersey or something like it, with a low v-neck cut. Love always looked so good in it. She always looked good in everything. She could wear a potato sack, for all he cared, and she'd still be stunning. He puts it up close to his face and breathes deeply. It smells of her perfume, citrusy and fresh. He gently throws it onto his pillow and takes the blanket out to Forty.

"Here you go. Sorry I don't have a guest bed or anything."

"You know, I would have preferred a mattress or something, but this is good." 

As Joe hands the blanket to Forty, he grabs his wrist, pulling him close.

"Old sport, I just want to say, thanks for, like... Putting up with me today. I know I can be intense or whatever, but you've been a real nice guy the whole time." He's getting teary again. Joe wants to get out of his grip, but at the same time, he feels a kind of pity for Forty. The poor kid is pouring his heart out when they barely know each other. The least he can do is listen. "And, like, I don't know. We could hang out more. I wouldn't mind. And we could work on the screenplay! 'Cause you're really smart. I mean, I'm smart, but you're, like... way smart. Like, whoa. Y'know?"

Joe smiles. "Okay, thanks, Forty. You'd better sleep now."

"Yeah, you're right. I... Yeah."

He lets go of Joe's wrist and takes the throw, draping it over himself as he lies down. Joe's just about out of the front room when he hears Forty again.

"Joe?"

Joe turns around. "Uh-huh?"

"When you get invited to celebrity orgies and stuff on Goldleaf, could you bring me as a plus-one? 'Cause I got invited to shit-tonnes of orgies on that app, but I got blacklisted for, like, for stupid shit. They won't let me make a new account or anything. It's so fucking dumb."

"Goodnight, Forty."

Forty yawns. "Mm. G'night, Forty," he echoes, and sinks into the cushions, clearly exhausted.

Finally back in his room, Joe practically collapses into his bed, still shirtless. The sheets are cold against his bare skin and he shivers, drawing the duvet tighter around himself. He places Love's jumper under his head. He falls asleep, and dreams of coming out to the kitchen in the morning and seeing her there. She's making breakfast, the gold light coming from the window giving her a soft halo. She smiles at him, and he wants to go to her, embrace her, but in the dream, he can't move at all. He just watches her cook - so close, but still out of reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! sorry this is so late, life has been a bit hectic recently. i'm not too happy w this chapter tbh, but i didn't really have time to redo the scaffolding and aaaa here it is. i wasn't able to get as /spicy/ as i would have liked but oh well :/


	4. Chapter 4

Joe doesn't feel so bad about Love. It still stings to see her and Milo, of course, and their occasional and brief chats by the lockers always leave him longing for more, but the pain is changing. It's not a stinging, fresh wound anymore. It's a dull ache; sore, but manageable. He's even been using those apps that Forty recommended, although the women he meets never seem to strike a chord with him - they're all nice people, but they never seem to live up to his standards of what a true _lover_ should be. That's what Joe's looking for. A lover. Not a girlfriend, or a sweetheart, or a "casual thing". He wants a lover.

Anavrin is pretty empty today. It's a humid Wednesday evening, most people have gone home, and the work is slow and tedious. Joe wouldn't really mind it if it weren't for the fact that he can see Milo and Love sucking face from nearly every corner of the store. It's been two weeks. Are they really _that_ into each other, still? Plus, they're doing it all over the kitchen counter. That's got to be a violation in at _least_ one health code. Occasionally, Forty walks by, taking a break from his "writing commune" (He's just smoking weed in the backroom, Joe can smell it), and they share a disparaging look with each other, both equally disgusted with Milo and disappointed in Love. 

Exhausted, Joe steals a moment to himself in the stock room. It's empty and quiet, and the air is refreshingly cool. One of the things that Joe misses about New York is the weather - weather that actually changes with the seasons, the way that it should, unlike the perpetual dry heat of LA. Moments like these, of air-conditioned respite, make him truly appreciate the days when he could go out with a scarf on and not feel like he was melting. He sits down on a stack of wooden pallets, leaning back into the wall and letting out a deep sigh.

His mind wanders back to Love, like it almost always does. Maybe he's been too critical of her lately. He sees her with that guy, and she's so happy - but Joe can't help the bitter spite from welling up inside of him. It's not fair that Milo gets to saunter in off the street and suddenly he's all that Love's ever wanted, all she's ever needed, while Joe had to cultivate the perfect environment to even get close to her. God, he wishes he were close to her again. He still has that jumper, kept safe with his other mementos behind the painting. He sleeps with it under his head occasionally and when he feels the need to scratch an itch, per se, he presses it softly over his nose and mouth. He breathes her in as he repeats her name, over and over, until he's finished, and he falls asleep worn out and ultimately unsatisfied. 

Even thinking about it makes his blood run hotter, and as he shifts his legs he feels tension in his jeans. He knows he probably shouldn't give in to temptation, and should just get back to work, but he's hard now, and fuck it, who's going to walk in anyways? He reaches under the apron, undoing the button and pulling down the zip. Gently, he grazes the side of his cock with fingertips through the fabric of his underwear, quietly sucking air in through his teeth. He reaches under his boxers and strokes himself. He's slow and controlled. 

He thinks of Love, of those humid nights where the air hung thick over the city and they would strip just to stay comfortable. One thing always led to another and they would be on his bed in no time flat, at each other like animals, a flurry of hot, wet mouths and desperate groping. He imagines it's one of those nights, and they're in his room, and he takes off his shirt as she undoes her bra. He sits back onto the bed, and she straddles him and grabs his neck as he holds her hips, and she's kissing him, and he kisses back, trying desperately to get more of her.

She bites down on his lip, tracing her tongue over the skin she's caught, and he whispers a plea. She responds by holding a warm hand around his crotch, over his jeans, and he puts his hand over hers, moving it slowly, showing her what he likes even though she knows it like a prayer. It's good, so good, and he takes his hand away to hold her arm and feels the muscles tensing under his palm, and he reaches higher, up the strong neck, through the soft curls, over the jaw, and his stubble brushes Joe's hand, and-

What.

He quickly pulls his hand away. That's not - he wasn't thinking - of course not, that was just... He's tired. That's it, he's tired, and he's been hanging out with Forty a lot, and - Was it even Forty? Joe doesn't think so. No way. He doesn't think about Forty like - he doesn't think about _guys_ like that. Full stop. He takes a deep breath. Okay, he's going to try that again, from the top. No... weird stuff. Stay focused. Okay.

He places his hand back onto his member stoking a bit faster now - he just wants to get it over with. So: humid night, tops off, straddle, kiss, stubble, _fuck!_ God damn it. He's not in the right headspace. The hard-on's not going away soon, though. He can't just go back out like this. Fu-u-uck.

Y'know, maybe this is... fine. Maybe this is okay. Joe would never _do_ anything with a guy, obviously, but sexuality is... it's fluid, right? The dick wants what it wants. And so what if it's Forty? Joe's an adult. He can separate fantasy and reality. But before he can get back to it, the door opens and footsteps fill the room. Joe hurries to do up his jeans again, struggling with the zip. There's a few shelves of items between him and the door, and he gets himself ready in the nick of time before he sees Forty meandering around the room, carrying a bag of chips he's no doubt taken from the stock. He spots Joe and his face spreads into a broad smile.

"Old sport! What's good?" He sits down beside Joe heavily, and Joe crosses his legs to cover any signs of what he was doing. Luckily, Forty's too high to notice, and he seems more interested in his bag of quinoa chips than Joe, anyway. "Sorry to like, barge in, but I've got mondo fuckin' munchies. D'you want any?" He angles the bag towards Joe.

"Uh, no. I'm good." This is weird. Everything with Forty is weird. Joe is keenly aware of how hot his face is now, and the cool air has seemingly vanished.

"Dude, you're burning up. Are you okay?" Forty places the back of his hand against Joe's forehead. His rings are cold against Joe's skin. "I can get you some water."

"That's fine, Forty, really. I just... It's hot out here, man."

"Yeah. It's those devil winds. You ever heard of them?"

"Oh, yeah." Every single Angeleno he's met has told him about the 'devil winds'. It's all bullshit superstition. Wind does not cause tension or unease, or whatever other mood people will attribute to it. People cause tension and unease. People cause everything, and then they come up with stuff like 'devil winds' to excuse their shitty behavior.

"All I'm gonna say is keep your cards close to your chest. You never know what's gonna happen, man." He puts his hand on Joe's thigh - Jesus, don't do that - and his eyes linger on Joe's before he gets up to leave. At least, Joe thinks they do, but he puts it down to the weed later. "By the way, I'm going to a party later. Bella Thorne is doing a thing for Parrots with OCD, and the afterparty's going to be fucking sick. Bella's always got the best molly. Just text me if you're interested and I'll give you the deets." 

He gives Joe one last look before winding his way back out through the shelves. Joe relaxes his body. Man, his muscles are tense.

Joe looks down at his watch. Six PM. He should be heading back home now. But a party could be nice. His apartment just feels empty now, and being there always makes him kind of sad. Maybe he'll text Forty about it, but he has to change first - his t-shit is soaked in sweat.

* * *

The walk back to his apartment is grueling, and his feet are killing him when he gets through the door. Slumped down on the couch, he gets out his phone send Forty a message.

_Hey man, thinking abt your offer. When's this thing getting started?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it got spicy yall! I'll try to get back into a schedule of monday and thursday/friday for uploads but i've got a lot of stuff going on atm. i think this'll get easier to write from now on so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ thanks for reading as always!


	5. Chapter 5

Holy shit. This house is fucking massive. Hendy's house was big, sure, but this place is enormous. Joe feels lost just looking at it. He can hear the thumping beat of whatever shitty dance pop is playing on the speakers from outside. He walks up to the gate, still checking the message he got from Forty:

_hell yeah broseph! code at the door is forbidden fruit. bring good shit if you have any :)_

He shoves his phone into his pocket and sees the bouncer, standing unnervingly still, looking to the horizon. Walking towards him Joe hesitates, unsure if it was really the right decision to come here. Joe realizes hasn't even walked through the door and he's already stressing out. Great. He opens his mouth to speak and he hears a high pitched voice come out.

"Hey, uh... Can I - I have the passcode. Should I tell you now? How do I, um, how do I do this?"

"Just say it."

"Forbidden fruit..?"

The man grunts and turns to open the gate. The first hurdle has been jumped somewhat successfully. Now to navigate the actual party. 

If the noise from outside was loud, inside, it's deafening. The lights are low, and every room is packed to the corners with people talking, dancing, or sucking face. It's a labyrinth of the young and desperate, and the lecherous scum who are willing to exploit them. Joe gets shoved into a wall by someone stumbling by, high or drunk or both, and god, it makes him want to scream. This was a mistake. Everything to do with Forty has been a mistake. Fuck it; Joe's just going to leave. He'll text Forty an excuse about his chakras being out of whack or something. Now, if he could only find his way out of the house...

Following the movement of the guests, he's drawn to a staircase. Desperate to get a break from the crowds, he climbs up a few floors. The rooms get emptier as he goes up, and eventually he finds a balcony, through one of the many spare bedrooms. It's empty, mostly. There's a girl up there, tall and lean, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. Her dress is sheer, a beautiful floral pattern, and it hangs from her frame beautifully, as though it was tailored for her, and maybe it was - the people here aren't exactly strapped for cash. He opens the door of the balcony and she looks back, casting a scrutinizing eye over him, before returning her gaze to the cityscape of L.A., glittering with the light of a thousand different windows. He feels the need to excuse himself for just looking at her.

"Hey, uh, sorry for... intruding. I just... people are pretty loud down there."

She huffs, probably annoyed. That's fine. Joe can just stop talking.

"I like your dress."

Okay, so apparently, he can't shut his big fucking mouth today. The girl doesn't reply, obviously, so Joe just keeps quiet and-

"It's beautiful."

What is wrong with him? Why is he still talking? He doesn't have to talk to her. He came up here for quiet. But there's an allure to her, and he can't stop getting drawn in.

"It's /Love and Lemons/," she says.

"I... what?"

"The brand. /For Love and Lemons/." She still isn't looking at him, but at least she's saved him from just talking /at/ her. After a moment, she turns her head to him again. "Are you talking about the dress, really?"

Joe chuckles. "I, uh..."

"I'm just saying," she walks closer to him, discarding her cigarette, "You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd care about fashion." Suddenly, her lips are on his, and her hands are on his hips, and it should feel good, but it just doesn't. Joe slowly pulls away.

"Sorry. I just don't... I don't think this is right."

The girl takes her hands away and stares at her feet. "Oh.. Oh, shit, uh... Don't... Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I didn't ask."

She fidgets with her dress and walks back through the door, her head still angled down, dragging her fingers through her short hair. Joe stays outside for a bit. What is wrong with him? She was beautiful. Fashionable. Free-spirited, but not unhinged.

And yet.

Joe runs his hand over his face. It's late. He should just go home. He opens the door and someone is standing just outside the bedroom. Before he can even see their face, they're gone. Joe's mind starts racing. Is it Love? Did Forty tell her about the party? No, that'd be stupid, even for him - there's no way he's staying sober, and Love would flip her shit if she saw him using.

Is it Candace? Oh, fuck. It could be Candace. Shit. He's got to find out who that was. Joe walks briskly through room after room, winding his way through crowds, just about able to see the trail of empty space the person left in their wake. He turns a corner, and runs right into Forty.

"Holy shit, broseph! I thought you were a no-show! Where were you?" Forty's standing with a group of his flawless friends, holding and a bottle of fluorescent alcopop. "Ah, whatever, man. I'm just glad you came. Oh! By the way, this is Angie," he says, gesturing to a petite, pretty girl in a PVC dress beside him. "She thinks you're really hot."

The girl - Angie - turns beet red and hits Forty in the arm. "Dude, what the fuck?" She squeals, a faint smile creeping onto her face.

Joe laughs plaintively. He doesn't feel like talking to anyone new right now. "Hey, Forty?"

Forty flashes his million-dollar grin at Joe. "Yeah?"

"Could we, uh, talk outside for a sec?"

"Sure, old sport! Whatever you need." 

They walk out of a sliding glass door into the garden, which is... surprisingly empty. String lights are hung up on the fences. They enclose a grassy clearing, interrupted only by a large swimming pool. There's a couple of people in the water, some sitting on the grass, but most people seem to be staying inside. Forty ushers Joe over to the alcove of a side entrance, away from the view of everyone outside.

"So, dude, what's up? I totally thought you were gonna bail. Good job for sticking it out, though. You're a trooper." Forty smiles at Joe, and when he doesn't smile back, doesn't even make eye contact, the smile morphs into a concerned, tight expression. "Dude, is everything okay?"

Everything is very much _not_ okay. Joe's world is spiraling. Everything he thought would happen - wife, kids, house - seem so far from him. He knows that there are no promises in life, and there are certainly no happy endings, but he thought at least get a blessing now and then. But, so far, everything that's been given to him is a curse. He's haunted by everything and everyone, and far fucking be it from life to give him respite. He's made his mistakes, of course, but who hasn't? And yes, some people may have lost their lives, but Joe is convinced that they were never truly living. He rubs his eyes, and fuck, is he crying?

Forty takes a step closer, close enough to reach a hand to Joe's back. "Dude, holy shit, I'm sorry. Did I - did I say something? Fuck, I'm so sorry, I..."

"No, it's not you, Forty." Joe sniffs. He can smell Forty's cologne. "I'm just... I don't know, man. I'm having a really rough time. I'm - Oh god, Forty. I think I'm broken."

Saying that flips a switch. The tears start pouring down his cheeks, and his body is racked by great, shuddering sobs.

"Oh. Oh, god. Um, I'm going to - I'll get you some water, okay?" After a very brief rub on the back, Forty dashes back inside the house. 

Shit. This was supposed to be an evening for Joe to forget about his troubles and relax, but of course, he's managed to twist it into an existential trainwreck. It's just not fair - he's done everything in his life, _everything_ , for other people, and yet his selfless deeds have brought no kind of karmic reward. Everything is shitty. Fuck. _Fuck_.

About five minutes go by and Forty comes back with a plastic bottle. "Here you go," He says, and hands it to Joe. "Man. Some party, huh?" His attempt to lighten the mood doesn't work, and they both stand in awkward silence for what seems to Joe like an age.

Forty places a tentative hand on Joe's shoulder. "I get it, man. Parties aren't for everyone. If you want to just, like, leave, I'm not gonna judge."

"No, I'm... I'm not leaving." Joe won't leave. He came here to forget about life for one fucking minute and by god he's going to do it, even if it kills him. "I don't know. It's been a weird week, man. I don't... fuck, I don't even know what I was crying about."

Forty lets out a soft chuckle, relaxing slightly. "I hear ya, buddy. Sometimes when I get fucked up I cry for, like, hours. What did you take?"

"Nothing!" Joe laughs. "I haven't even had a drink yet. God, I need a drink," He mumbles. 

"I can do you one better, man," Forty smirks. On saying this. he produces from his pocket a plastic baggy with a couple of brightly coloured pills in the shapes of different symbols and logos. "They're totally safe, I checked."

Joe's never done E before. In fact, he's never done any kind of party drug at all. Part of him says _no, this is stupid, you'd never do this back in New York,_ but a different part of him, a new part, says _try it. You might like it._

He stretches out a hand, and Forty takes a yellow one shaped like the Warner Bros logo out and places it in Joe's palm. He throws it back into his mouth and washes it down with the water. He screws his eyes shut, waiting for something to happen, and...

Forty snorts at him. "Dude, what are you doing? Just relax. It takes time for this stuff to work its magic."

"How long?"

"Eh, give it about a half hour."

For a long time, nothing happens, and as Forty and Joe stand quietly in that little alcove, Joe wonders if maybe Forty got the wrong stuff. But sure enough, after thirty minutes, it finally hits.

First the pool starts leaking into the grass. Not the water, but the turquoise tiles, mingling with the deep green, fading and blending and ebbing with the pounding of the music in the house and the pulse in Joe's head. It's beautiful, and for a long time Joe just stares. watching the colours waltzing in front of him. Then he looks at Forty, wanting to know if he can see what Joe's seeing, but when he tries to ask he can't form the words, and mumbles incoherently. Looking at Forty's face is also nice, he realizes. His eyes, usually so bright, are almost black. His skin glitters with tiny beads of sweat, and, well, actual glitter. His hair looks so soft. Joe wants to touch it. Joe really fucking wants to touch it. The garden lights are so warm and the air is so cool and his skin is blooming under it all, and he's never felt like this, not with Beck, not with Love, not with anyone, ever. Forty comes closer to him.

"How're you feeling, old sport?" He says, and places a hand on Joe's shoulder, like he always does, but this time Forty must feel daring, because he snakes his hand up and along Joe's neck, to the back of his head. Joe can feel the skin that he touched rippling, vibrating with need, and the void it leaves is so empty that Joe has to fill it again. He places both hands behind Forty's neck and kisses him, and his lips are so warm and his skin is so soft and his hair is like feathers under his hand, and Joe feels like they're the only ones in this stupid, pointless, wonderful city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya, long time no see lol
> 
> so yeah, here's the 5th chapter after like a couple of months,,,, sorryyyyy  
> things got p rough for me and this fic got pushed to the wayside. i wish i'd had more time to work on it, but it kind of lost momentum and i found it really difficult to pick up again, and the current situation globally has not helped lmao. Ive become the very thing that i hate.... a fic writer that just fkn disappears halfway through writing lol
> 
> ive decided that its best for me to discontinue this as i dom't feel any real drive to keep going. if anyone would like to take up the fic and contine it they can, i would love to see where people would take this. This chapter is probably a fairly unsatisfying end and im sorry abt that, but nothing else ive written has seemed like a fluid, natural progression of events :/
> 
> im incredibly grateful for all of the people who commented such lovely things, esp those who commented on each chapter. yall are so nice and i dont deserve you lol,,, for my first ever fic the response has been amazing and i really am so grateful!
> 
> If i ever get a sudden need to update this i will, but I'm not sure if thatll ever happen
> 
> Anyways love you bye and take care babes xoxo


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